3 Reasons Why
by Alissa-Weasley
Summary: "He only needed 3 letters to define himself. 3 little letters.Just like the 3 raised lines upon his arm.He had 3 reasons why for those cuts. 3 reasons why he made himself bleed, Only 3 reasons that made him hate who he is" WARNING; Self harm, Dark.


_aA/N; __Hi Guys, So, I've been on a writing streak this week and I keep coming up with newer (and more depressing) fanfics. What can I say? I love my tragedies. And Neville Longbottom, and his undying love for Ginny Weasley (I wish). Anyways, this one is kind of dark, and it might be triggering. I'm writing this from experience of course, and I don't know, it seems just kind of right that I write this, to pour all of my feelings into this fanfic. Also, this is AU, the Hogwarts Gang doesn't have magic, and yeah… I know it's different, but I've always wanted to write a fic like this._

_Anyways, I hope you enjoy this one, and please Read and Review! J Reviews make me smile._

_Love, Alissa_

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><p>Without further ado, Here is; Three Reasons Why.<p>

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><p>WARNING -<p>

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><p>WARNING -<p>

Neville Longbottom looked down at the blank piece of parchment before him. It was blank, and empty, like the walls of the classroom he was in. There was nothing on the walls, just blank white walls, and a white board. They seemed to suck out his soul, and drain his energy. Screw Snape, He had never believed in fun, or colours. He looked up, Snape sat at his desk, with his hair hanging down freely, ending in greasy clumps, with an eternal frown pasted upon his lips, grading papers. Neville knew he'd probably end up with a D, or a C. He sighed and looked around; everyone except him had their heads down, scribbling furiously on the essay that was due for tomorrow. He sighed, and took a look at the topic of their essay.

"_All about you_

_Write about yourself, your family, or friends, or even about your interests. Make it as interesting as possible._

_Minimum of 1000 words_

_Pay Attention to Spelling and Grammar_

_Due Tomorrow_

_If not handed in, 2 days in detention"_

He sighed. 1000 words?  
>He only needed 3 letters to define himself.<br>3 little letters. Just like the 3 raised lines upon his arm. He had 3 reasons why for those cuts. 3 reasons why he made himself bleed. 3 reasons why he needed to feel the release, and smell the intoxicating scent that reminded him he was still alive. Only 3 reasons that made him hate who he is, and what he was going to be… 3 reasons why.

He couldn't take it anymore. The feeling of needed release was too strong.

"Erm, Professor? Can I go to the nurse's office?" he said, raising his hand.

"Of course, Longbottom. I'll just take this as a skipped class and add it to your detention list" drawled Snape, his voice freezing Neville's blood. Draco Malfoy and his group of friends snickered and pointed at him.

"What a loser" he heard someone whisper.

With that, Neville grabbed his bag and trudged out of the classroom, slamming the door on his fingers. His fingers throbbed, and turned an angry red. He could hear laughter coming from the inside of the classroom, one of the laughs coming from his Professor.

Neville groaned, and anger ran through his veins. He trudged down to the boy's washroom, and sat inside a stall. He fumbled for the army knife he kept in his pocket. It was razor sharp, and could kill a person if it were to hit a vein. Exactly what he wanted, but was too scared to do it.

He needed to see the scarlet droplets run down his wrists; He needed to smell the bitter sweet scent of blood that reminded him he was still breathing. He needed to feel the cut, the slice of the knife as it cut through his porcelain pale skin, the familiar stinging sensation and the relief that followed after. The relief he craved so badly. The only thing that'll keep him sane.

He winced as the memory of yesterday flew into his mind.

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><p>"Why can't you be more useful? I mean, all you do is sit around in your fat, wasting daylight writing your stupid useless poetry" his Gran yelled at him. She was fuming, turning a deep shade of red.<p>

Neville sighed. As if he wasn't used to this shit already. He sighed and put his notebook away. He had discovered poetry in a whole new light. It was a way for him to vent, and write about his feelings, instead of watching beads of scarlet emerge from his wrist (_he wanted to see it, oh so badly_).

His gran had never really liked him. Deep inside, he knew the truth. She wished he was like his dad (too bad he's mental). His dad was brave, the bravest man Neville would ever know. His dad was strong, and handsome. Everything Neville wasn't, and would never be. He would never fit up to her expectations, and everything had to be perfect for her. But he would never be perfect, he knew it. No matter what he would do, he'd disappoint her, Just because he didn't like what the average (normal, according to her) boy. Normal boys would play football and get dirty. Neville liked playing in the dirt. Most boys hated reading, given a book about flowers or plants, Neville would be cooped up in his room reading it. Most boys would trash flowers. Neville would spend his afternoons tending them.

She wanted him to be like his father. He would forever be stuck in his father's shadow; never living up to the expectations people expected him to. Forever a worthless dump, a leftover. **Reason number one.**

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><p><em>Slice<em>

He ran the razor down his skin, cutting deep. He let out a mad grin, as the red blood started to pour out of his arm and collecting at the ends of the razor, releasing his feelings and the thoughts that were slowly killing him. He watched as the scarlet blood fell to the ground and grinned. It looked so good next to his pale skin, like a splash of colour against a canvas. Forever bare and boring without it. Exactly how he thought of himself. The coppery smell of blood beat against his nose, and he took a big breath, inhaling the one reminder that he was alive.

"Ahhhhh"

It was a smell he was oh-so familiar with… He sighed as relief poured over him and remembered what had happened last week…

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><p>He had walked into St. Mungos. The one hospital for the "insane, and mental". He smiled at the lady at the counter, as the familiar smell of medicine and stale food filled his nostrils. He stepped through to the elevator that would take him to his parents. He never knew his parents, Nor did his parents know him. Their son, their flesh and blood. They didn't know, and they would never recognize him. Never. He had been warned about this when he was 5, when he tried to hug his mother and she started screaming. His heart had broken into a million shards of glass, impaling itself deeper into his heart every time he visited them. How could a girl love him, when his own mother didn't even love him?<p>

He entered his parents room, Alice was lying on the bed, still as death and his father sat on a chair staring out into the bright busy world. The world that he once knew but would never return to. Neville sat beside his mother on the bed and held her hand. She didn't even flinch. She was so cold, so near to death. After all the years in the hospital, it wore her down to skin and bones. He sighed as he could see every bone in her body, protruding in sharp angles against her skin, which seemed too far stretched out over her frail figure. She looked over at Neville, and panic started to show in her eyes.

"No…Mum… it's just me, Neville… Mum… shhhh" he said to her, trying to soothe her.

She didn't say anything and started to shake, her breaths coming out in a ragged manner. Neville started to panic, remembering his mom has epilepsy.

"Nurse! Nurse!" he yelled, tears starting to form in his eyes. He couldn't bear to see her in pain like this; He clutched her hand, screaming for the nurse.

"Where the hell is that damn nurse?" He screamed in frustration.

All of a sudden, she stopped shaking, and her breathing slowed, and finally… her breathing just stopped. Neville took in a sharp breath, too scared to face the truth. He felt her wrist, praying to feel a pulse, a faint one, anything. He couldn't feel anything, it was still as early morning water. He put down her arm and to his broken heart, it fell against the white sheet. Her arm just looking like an bump against the sheet that camouflaged her.

A nurse rushed in, and gasped.

"Sh-sh-she… sei-seizure… d-d-dead" Neville cried.

He ran out of the room and collapsed on the hospital floor. His mother… He watched her die… She died not knowing him, not knowing she had a son, Never knowing he'd ever existed. Never.

The nurse came out of the room, handing him a brown leather bound book.

"It's your mothers… It was mandatory for every meeting we had with them" she said, sadly.

Neville opened up the journal and in neat writing it said This Belong To Alice Longbottom, Wife to Frank Longbottom, No children.

He flipped through the book, and a certain entry came up. It was written in a neat upward scrawl.

"_Journal, who is this boy that comes in every week? I don't know him… I've seen him countless times before, I don't know him… He looks at me with an endearing look, like I'm related to him, He calls me "mum", Silly boy… he thinks I'm his mother, I've never had a child, I've never seen this boy before… I wish he'd just go away… it's scaring me, he looks a lot like my husband… but I don't know why he calls me mum, I'm not his mum…" _

Neville sat there and cried, for who knows how long? His mum… she never knew him, She never got the chance to, She'd never know him… she'd never be able to remember her own flesh and blood. **Reason number 2.**

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><p><em>Slice<em>

He watched as the knife cut through his wrist again. Ruby red drops started to appear, and he smiled in satisfaction. It was perfect, an exact line, identical to the first, and just as red. He was scared sometimes, He was scared he wouldn't stop after the first, second, third cut. He was scared the blood would pour and the thoughts (that killed him softly) would never escape. He was scared it wouldn't hurt enough. He was scared it would kill him (but he wanted it to, so badly). He didn't want to be on this damn earth anymore. No friends, Never had a girlfriend, Never kissed anyone, Never loved, Neville Longbottom. What was the point of living when it came to this?

He knew he had one thing he was in control of. He was in control of the pain he caused himself, the pain he craved, and the release he needed the most. He could feel the hurt and anger pour out of his wrists like the blood that ran through his veins. It was his way of escape. The only thing that will keep him sane. The only thing that would prove he was alive, and breathing. The only thing that would prove to him that he was real. A silent tear fell and landed on the fresh wound. It stung. He winced in pain, but only craved it more. The salt collided with the fresh wound, He now knew what it felt like to "rub salt into the wound". It felt good, something he knew he'd try again.

Tears poured down his cheeks and onto the watery blood as he reminisced about what had happened a few weeks back…

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><p>Neville sat in the cafeteria with Dean, Seamus, Ron and Harry. He sat, picking at his food trying to figure out what kind of concoction Filch (head chef) made for today. The boys rambled on about soccer, and basketball, and whatever other sport they played. Neville sighed and shook his head, He knew he'd never be able to relate to them. He wasn't the best at sports, He wasn't the best at anything actually.<p>

Out of the corner of his eye, stood the girl he liked, He had liked her ever since she moved down the street from him in the sixth grade. Together, they were inseparable. Wherever she was, he would be with her standing right by her side. They were the definition of best friend. He loved how she had glowing red hair. It made her easily unique, and her chocolate brown eyes were something he knew he could stare into for days. If he could stare hard enough, he could see her story, of struggle and hurt growing up with 6 older brothers. They really were best friends, she knew everything about him, and he knew everything about her. About how she loved stars, and astrology and wanted to be an astronomer one day, and about how she loved when boys sang to her. In fact, She made Neville sing to her every night. The exact same song, called "For All Time" by Albert Posis. He still could remember every word to it, and he could remember how good Ginny felt, with her head on his chest as they watched the stars shine.

It wasn't meant to be… in the 8th grade, Ginny became popular, and joined the cheerleading squad, in fear of her popularity, she dumped Neville.

As a friend and as a potential boyfriend.

He didn't know a heart could break that badly… He didn't know she'd leave him crying every night, wishing she was back in his arms. He didn't know it could hurt this bad. Like acid was running through his veins, leading to his heart. He had to stop the pain. He had to. He ran away from his house, into the dark black unpromising night. He fell and there was a nasty gash on his wrist. He watched in fascination as the blood began to pour, and the pain Ginny caused him started to numb. Little did he know, he'd inflict the same pain to himself countless times in the future… **Reason number 3.**

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><p><em>Slice<em>

He looked down at the blade. It was covered by a thin scarlet layer of blood, and he watched his reflection; Begging for it to move, or do something. A tear fell and hit the blade, washing it of blood and saw himself clearly. Clearly as he had ever seen himself before. He was Neville Longbottom. No family, or friends. Not smart, athletic, or musical. He would never be anything special to anyone. He didn't hold a meaning to anyone at all. Slowly, he took the blade and slashed it across his wrist one last time. The intoxicating smell of rust, salt and copper enveloped his nose. A smell he was so familiar with, a scent he longed to smell, a scent that reminded him his heart was still pumping. He pulled his head back and smiled up at the fluorescent light above him. Deep red blood gathered the ends of the blade, and he smiled at his bloody complexion in the blade. He stood up and looked at the harm he had done.

3 cuts, all cut in line and exact precision placed upon his porcelain skin. They looked perfect, In fact… they were perfect. They were everything he knew he'd never be.

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><p><strong>THE END - <strong>

_A/N; So… what'd you guys think? Too dark? Too depressing? Too… blah? Please review! It'll make me smile. Constructive criticism only! Don't flame if you know what's good for you. Also, I got this idea from MoodyJenny86. Check out her stories! They're amazing. (:_

_Anyways,. Please review. _


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